Nightblind Read Online Free Page A

inside, to be absolutely sure, but the station was empty. Herjólfur was nowhere to be seen.
    There had to be some reasonable explanation, but, still groggy, Ari Thór struggled to see one. He drove slowly through the centre of town, then took a larger sweep through the side streets but there was no sign of the patrol car. Before going any further, Ari Thór decided that it would be worth taking a look at the only two roads leading out of the town, the road towards the old mountain tunnel, Strákar tunnel, and the road leading to the new Hédinsfjördur tunnel.
    He knew he wasn’t fit to drive, still half-asleep, sick and weak, and he had to do a double take when he saw the patrol car at the roadside near the Strákar tunnel entrance, next to the old house that had been empty and becoming steadily more dilapidated ever since he had moved to the town.
    Growing increasingly uneasy, Ari Thór felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding – almost like a premonition. At that exact moment, he knew that something had happened to Herjólfur. With an adrenaline buzz providing the boost of energy he needed to sideline the flu for a while and think clearly, he pulled up behind the patrol car.
    Bracing himself against the freezing rain, his eyes struggling to adjust in the darkness that preceded the dawn, he peered through the car windows, and then opened the doors of the patrol car to see if Herjólfur might be inside.
    Empty.
    His concern deepening, Ari Thór surveyed the landscape that surrounded him, the high mountain from which the road had literally been carved, and the sea on the other side. There was barely room for this single house there on the side of the road, on what was essentially a landfill site, and beyond it was a sheer and deadly drop into the cold, northern sea. There was no light from the house and no sign of his colleague. Making his way briskly towards the house, his jacket pulled tightly around him as the wind whipped the rain into a frenzy, he wondered if anyone would hear him if he called out. And then there was no need.
    In the gravel a few yards away from the malevolent house lay a man in police uniform. He was completely still. Ari Thór shone his torch to be sure that it was Herjólfur, although he knew it could be no one else. The sight of the blood that was seeping into the puddles around the fallen man made him catch his breath, and he paused for a moment, struggling to believe what his own eyes were telling him, before bending down instinctively to search for signs of life. Fingers shaking, Ari Thór tried without success to find a pulse, and the thought occurred to him that he could be in danger himself.Should he get away from the scene and call an ambulance from the car?
    And then he felt it – he was certain he had found a faint pulse. Or was it just an illusion, hope defeating reality?
    Pulling his phone from his pocket, he wiped the screen with the sleeve of his jacket, and called the emergency line, asking for an ambulance to be sent immediately, his voice high-pitched, odd to his own ears. It wasn’t far to travel. The hospital was no distance away. He explained the situation in words as short and clear as he could manage.
    ‘He’s still alive?’
    ‘I think so,’ he replied quietly; and then, more loudly, and with determination, ‘I think he is.’
    There was no more that he could do. He was in no position to take any risks or assess the extent of Herjólfur’s injuries.
    He felt an instinctive urge to flee, to get himself to somewhere safer, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Herjólfur. He sat on the ground at his side, shivering uncontrollably. There was nobody to be seen and it was unusually dark over the fjord that morning. It was a gloomy time of year, with sunshine a rare visitor and in a few weeks the sun would disappear behind the mountains for two long months.
    In the distance he saw lights and instinctively began rubbing Herjólfur’s hand. ‘They’re coming,’ he said